Mortal 'cursed' form:
Personality: Mood swinging as ever, some days sterner than the portside of a very sturdy ship, other days just going with the flow, but always getting the job done quickly, and with efficency.
Appearance: He appears to be a grizzled Tauren, greying furs, a long mane decorating his back, and many beads signifying his power and experiance.
Weapons: It varies. From twin daggers, to twin scimitars, to a giant axe...You get the idea.
Armour: Varies as he finds more and more of it.
Born in the early days of the First Invasion, Wolvialstrastz, Black Dragonflight newborn, was secluded and didn't know, nor care about the time period in which he was born, ever. He was taught the fundementals of being one of the Flights, honor, flying, trustworthiness, etc. He excelled, especially in combat tactics until he became what they would call a 'Drake'. In which time he spend millions of years studying the mortals, getting to know their cultures, ways of life, weaponry, armoursmith's ways, leatherworking patterns....All the while learning new forms to transform into, for he could transform into anything he knew enough about to not die because some important organ wasn't there, or an extra one inside was placed. He'd spent centuries from everything from Wolves to Gnomes, Furblogs to Humans, Night Elves to Tauren, Naga to Blood Elves. In these days he came to cherish his time with the mortal races, knowing of their short-lived lives and sometimes, total ignorance of the outside world, everything about them, they knew little or nothing about, and probably never shall, unless they invent a way to improve their lifespan, no, better wording, extend their lifespan, to, say, about as much as Blood Elves or Night Elves? Not going to happen, but even the Elves don't have the vast amounts of knowledge the Dragonflights had.
Since he was gone so long, Wolvialstrastz didn't know the goings on of the other flights...Eventually, he felt the inner urge to visit his Flight once more. He sailed through the skies, ebony form slicing through the perpetual twilight. When he finally alighted on a hidden alcove, a place where he used to meet with other Dragons of his Flight, it was empty, barely any traces of Dragon scent. Wolvialstrastz was puzzled and troubled by this, wondering why the Dragons of his Flight would abandon a perfectly good spot to gather . . . He decided to push it aside...He started to fly back, but a voice roared 'cross the canyon walls that surronded the alcove.
"Any more of the Black Dragon scum left, Borialstrastz?!"
"Nary a single one, after Naltharion's betrayal! We shall have our RETRIBUTION!"
"Yes, brother, let's root out this pestiline menace, wait..."
"I sense something nearby...Or someone..."
"Friend or foe?"
"I think its the stench...Faint Black Dragon stentch..."
"Might want to go check it out?"
"Nay, Borialstrastz, from the scent, centuries old, hasn't been used, let's go from this place. Its dreary and dull. Always hated Hyjal."
"Yes, Archimonde's death general location always gave me chills as well."
"Then let's be off, Borialstrastz!"
. . .There was the sound of wingbeats flapping the brisk winds, growing fainter, and fainter. Wolvialstrastz breathed a sigh of relief, why the Red Dragonflight, there was no mistaking their scent, was hunting the Black Dragonflight, he'd never know, and he'd never guess, either. For why would the Flights betray each other? Did the little traitor Nefarion do something? Or was it something bigger, worse. He shuddered at the thought. So many terrible possibilities were there. He flew out of the hidey-hole cautiously. . . Not wanting to fall victim to whomever was hunting him, and wondering why? He flew carefully through the Horde-controlled city of Kargath, not seeing the Orcs in a good few decades, and if they were still demonic . . . He'd be easy prey for a good troupe of around a hundred to swarm him! He didn't want to be that unlucky sap who got shot down by all of those angry Orcs! Wait...This wasn't Hyjal...Damn portals popping up everywhere nowadays...He'd have to be cautious, or he'd, quite frankly, be dead one of these days because of his carelessness.
Now, back to buisness. He swiftly made another portal, and made it outside Stormwind. He was nervous, what if Naltharion really did do something? He transformed into a Human male, light brown hair, slight, around 6'3 tall, his 'knight' human transformation. He wore unadorned mail armour, a swashbuckler feel added because of the twin scimitars strapped to his back. He walked into the city proudly, talking formalities to the various nobles he encountered, until he finally came across the room. To Naltharion's quarters. The Royal House Prestor. He knocked on the door, which was promptly answered by a "Come in,"
Wolvialstrastz opened the door cautiously, and entered quickly, shutting the door behind him.
"Wolvialstrastz, its been ages..." Naltharion began, but Wolvialstrastz cut him off,
"Naltharion? What's wrong with the Red Dragonflight? They were hunting us! HUNTING us! They were scouting around Hyjal just earlier today, trying to find hidey-holes where we could hide, so they could 'destroy us'..." He said tensely.
"And you step past what you should know, child! You should not come demanding and charging into things that have to be taken slowly! If you want to delve into matters so much, do it as a mortal, foolish Wolvialstrastz! You meddle a lot more than you should...Your curiousity might make you do something, harmful, to ALL of the Dragonflights, for the next ten millenia, you shall be transformed into one of the lesser races, it'll give you time to...Contemplate your, faults." Naltharion said tarsely.
Wolvialstrastz bowed his head, obidient to the end.
"I'm sorry, Naltharion. I ment no disrespect, I just was surprised and appalled by the Red Dragonflight's actions." He replied, ready for the spell.
"You'll be sure to find out in your first millenia, Arcanon, Gelifreesz, Vilitarynewalquenn, Beilldennze, Tarkenon!" He roared the words of magic, a swelling of a portal formed under his feet, Wolvialstrastz yelped in surprise as he went plunging down. After this fall, he found himself in Thunder Bluff, he looked at his hands, Tauren-like...He was a Tauren! His hands were grey and grizzled, an old-ish one too...Looks like his days of hitting on Blood Elves were over...He realized he had a bow and twin scimitars on him. Perfect. At least now he could defend himself. . .
And now, Wolvialstrastz has only two years to go until his 'curse' will be laid to rest...For time had been distorted, no doubt Nozdormu had a part in this as well, for he was at the point where, almost ten millenia ago, Naltharion changed him into a Tauren, stupid time flux.
Player Vs. Player that isn't suicide? -- Count me in. Any guilds that don't hold grudges for months? A leader that doesn't cry 'EMO! EMO!' every couple of minutes? . . . A guild that WON'T kick me out because I have a Player Vs. Player flag on? -- Contact me in game about it, please?